


how happy must be angels thus employed

by saintsurvivor



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Depression, Eddie Thawne Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Barry, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Seeking forgiveness, Self-Destruction, Self-Loathing, Starvation, Weight Issues, eating issues, low-key tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:18:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/pseuds/saintsurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He feels like that nine year old boy all over again, watching his mother get murdered and his father being led away in handcuffs, this same old empty pit in his belly and tears burning his eyes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>[Only this time, he knows who to blame.]</em><br/>[or,</p><p>afer-eobard is tougher than they thought it would be.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	how happy must be angels thus employed

#  _how happy must be angels thus employed_

He feels like that nine year old boy all over again, watching his mother get murdered and his father being led away in handcuffs, this same old empty pit in his belly and tears burning his eyes.

[ _Only this time, he knows who to blame_.]

\---

**[1]**

“You’re losing weight, Barry,” Caitlin says quietly. Her voice is still oddly loud, echoing and distorted in the weight of the Cortex.

Cisco lingers at the computers, brow furrowed. He’s staring intently at the screen, Barry can see.

Harrison Wells didn’t just upset Barry’s life, Barry knows. The ripples of the revelation is clear to see in Caitlin’s strained shoulders, the weight balancing on Cisco’s head and the cold stillness in the Cortex.

He pervaded every inch of them, of their life and somehow, somehow Harrison Wells - _Eobard Thawne_ \- still hasn’t left even after everything.

“I’m trying,” Barry murmurs, just as quietly.

It’s takes a little bit of fussing to get his sweatshirt over his head with the intravenous in his hand, but after doing it so many times, Barry’s gotten the hang of it. He caps the pink cannula for a second, feeds the line through the material, reconnects; _automatic_. He fiddles with a fraying cuff just to avoid looking at Caitlin.

“I’ve made some more protein bars for you,” Cisco says, and he finally looks up, eyes heavy. His hair is stringent around his face, falling into the hollows and creating shadows that make him look even more stretched out. “They’re more calorie-packed then these last packs, but Barry, you’re starting to look like a stringbean,”

Barry slumps, leaning into Caitlin’s side from where she’s still standing by him.

“I know,” Barry says, and _oh, what a trio they make._ Too _soft_ and too _hurt_ and just too _quiet._ They’ve all been hurt and they find it hard to trust.

They don’t say anything about how they still expect to hear the sounds of mechanicalized wheels and feel their hearts _jump_ in their throats.

“Have you spoken to Iris and Eddie?” Caitlin says in the silence. The gap that Eobard Thawne had carved inside of them, her and Cisco and Barry, they try to fill with people and themselves and _words_. Sometimes it’s like it works. But trust and faith is a funny thing.

“Not-not about this,” Barry says, and he digs his nails into his wrist just to feel something other than this earth shattering numbness that feels a lot like hunger gnawing at the inside of his belly. It feels foreign. He doesn’t feel hungry these days.

_[Not since he felt the Speedforce swallowing him whole, the push-pull-break apart of the singularity opening above him-the gunshot punch of Eddie taking his own life - Iris screaming_

_The feel of time swallowing and spitting him back out, a bullet lodged in his fourth and fifth intercostal and the stuttering - overwhelming -  knowledge that Eddie is still alive]_

“You should,” Cisco says, and he’s moved, closer and closer still. He carves a space in Caitlin’s curves, hand heavy and warm on the back of Barry’s  neck. Barry leans forward, a hand in Caitlin’s and resting his head on Cisco’s shoulder.

“I can’t,” Barry says, and he feels his heart jump into his trachea and it’s like being shot all over again, this fierce aching pain in his chest that makes him bite his lip until it bleeds and keep his teeth buried in the broken flesh just to feel something else. “I _can’t.”_

It’s desperate, but what can he say. Barry Allen’s a desperate man.

“You have to, Barr,” Cisco says, and there is a broken tone in his voice as he grips Barry’s nape and Caitlin clenches his hand tighter. “You’ve lost twenty pounds in a _month_ , they’ve gotta have noticed,”

“But how can I tell them-” Barry says, desperate and _desperate_ , voice cracking as he buries his face in his hands and hunches over. Caitlin fits her trembling fingers into the shallow spaces of Barry’s spine and digs her fingers in until the skin is white and Barry shudders.

“How can I tell them that I’m a _failure_?” He says into the darkness he’s created with his hands, pushing his palms against his eyes until stars burst beneath and it’s like if he just stared hard enough at them, he’ll meld with them.

“You’re _not_ a failure,” Cisco says, and he push-pulls his way to Barry’s face, fingers uncharacteristically harsh around Barry’s wrists as he ducks his head until he’s staring, wide eyed and pale faced, into Barry’s eyes. “You-You did the _best_ you could, that was _Wells_ , not you-,”

Cisco seems to run out of steam, shuddering and closing his eyes. He grips at his chest with an expression of pain, as if something is trying to rip his heart out. Something shrivels in Barry’s.

“Then why do I feel like it?” He asks, plaintive and honest, something childlike in his voice.

They can’t answer him.

He feels like that nine year old boy all over again, watching his mother get murdered and his father being led away in handcuffs, this same old empty pit in his belly and tears burning his eyes.

[Only this time, he knows who to blame.]

\---

**[2]**

They’re in bed, Iris and Eddie.

A shaft of moonlight peers through the curtains, falling over the bed and illuminating the brilliance of Eddie’s hair, the curve of his cheek. It highlights the beautiful arch of Iris’s brow, the slope of her mouth, open ajar.

Barry watches them from the window, see’s how Eddie is curled around Iris, her hand on his ribs and Eddie’s just resting on Iris’s hip. A pit of longing yawns widely in the bottom of his stomach, something warm and he kneels at the side of the bed.

He tangles his fingers with Iris’ and Eddie’s, presses kisses to the warm, skin of their fingers. He kneels and it’s supplicant to them, their love and want and kindness.

“I’m sorry,” Barry says, desperate and breaking for something he doesn’t deserve. “I’m so _sorry_ ,”

Iris turns to him and Barry _gasps_ , but she’s still asleep, mouth falling open further and the silk wrap of yellow and orange she wears gleams in the fading moonlight. Her’s and Eddie’s hands tightly grasp his, even in sleep.

He clenches his eyes shut, feeling the burn of tears in the back of his eyes. He touches his trembling lips to their hands and his shoulder shudder.

He falls asleep like that, hip long since gone dead and numb and clutching their hands.

They’ll ask about it in the morning, and Barry will just _smile_ and press a kiss to their cheeks as they all head to work, _automatic automatic automatic._

\---

**[3]**

Work is work is work.

A distraction and a passion that’s lost it’s fire in the wake of Barry’s numbness that pervades his limbs and make his guilt even heavier.

He sits at his desk, staring down at the sample. His actions are _automatic_ , as most things are nowadays; working, thinking, eating, _breathing_ , _living_. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

He floats by in a haze, feeling the weight of two sweaters on his ribs, the trousers he’s having to cinch tightly on a new hole in a belt he’s never really used before. He eats, though he’s never really hungry now.

_[The speedforce shoots up his spine and it’s like he can feel a storm gathering in the small of his back.]_

“Hey, Barry, Iris got us some lunch!” Eddie says, loud and cheerful and his smile is a beautiful thing as he strolls into the lab, Iris not far behind. He’s holding a bag of Chinese take-out. Barry doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a beautiful sight as Eddie and Iris.

“Heya, Bar,” Iris says, and they kiss him, soft and sweet. It takes all his will and effort not to whimper, a hurt pathetic soft sound in the back of his throat. “I’m sure you’re hungry,”

He wants to _lie_ , wants to say _yes, yes I’m starving,_ but he _can’t_ because even though it feels like his stomach is gnawing itself, he can’t stomach it, can’t bear the thought of food-

“Barry?” Eddie says, and his voice is soft and concerned. He leans in, breath warm as Eddie puts a hand on Barry’s cheek. “Bar?”

“I want to go _home_ ,” Barry says instead, small and ashamed, and it feels like he’s about to shatter into a thousand fragile pieces as Iris fits her curves into Eddie’s angles.

“Bar?” Iris says, and her hand is warm and heavy on Barry’s knee.

“ _I want to go home_ ,” He says again, still in the same small, ashamed voice. He clutches Eddie’s hand, the one not on his cheek. Clutches it to his chest and fishes around for Iris’, clutching them both like a lifeline, fingers long and _thin_ and _bony_.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Iris says, soft and loving and she fits an arm around Barry’s waist as Eddie presses a sweet kiss to Barry’s temple, lingering there for a moment.

“Do you wanna get my dad?” Iris whispers. She fits her hand under Barry’s sweaters, and hides her sadness at the bump of bones she finds. Eddie looks as if he wants to argue, gazing at Barry.

“Yeah,” He swallows, tightens his grip of Barry’s hand for just a second. It’s like he can’t bare to let go. “ _Yeah_ ,” He says again.

“Bar?” Iris asks when Eddie is gone, and Barry _blinks_ down at her. His face is thin, she notices again. Everything is, the shadows of his collarbones more pronounced, the angles of his face.

“I’m sorry, _Iris_ ,” He says, and it’s like he’s drowning in his own lungs.  “I’m so sorry,”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about, Bar,” Iris says, and she thinks she knows what he’s apologizing for even if he perhaps doesn’t.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” He says, again and again and she hugs him.

She stands between his legs and holds him close, his face pressed into her neck and she tries to pretend that the tears she feel, hot and damp on her throat doesn't make her heart wrench. He wraps his arms around her, and she rubs a hand down his back, fitting her fingertips in the knobs of his spine and pressing her face into his hair.

“I love you,” Barry murmurs, and his hands creep up her back, fisting in the thin material of her work blouse.

Iris pretends that she can’t feel the prominence of his knuckles or the sharp edge of his jaw as he runs a hand through his hair and then presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I love you too,” Iris whispers, a soft fond thing as she feels his shoulders shudder, jerking as he _gasps_ quietly into her shoulder.

Eddie’s hand on the small of her back distracts her, and she can see the dark of his eyes, the concern as he fits a hand around the curve of Barry’s head, slipping down to his nape and squeezing lightly. He tips his head behind her and she turns slightly.

“Oh, _kiddo_ ,” Joe says and Barry _shudders_ , lifting his head from Iris’s shoulder to stare at his foster-father. His eyes are _red_ , bruised from exhaustion and he looks like he wants to just _sleep_.

Eddie looks at Iris, who nods back.

“I’m just gonna talk to my dad, okay Bar? Eddie’s right here,” Iris murmurs softly, and Barry nods. She cups his face, _delicate_ and loving, kisses his forehead.

She takes a step back, watches at how Eddie seamlessly slips into Barry’s space, and she can’t help the soft smile she gives as Eddie ends up with a lapful of Barry, head tucked under Eddie’s chin and his knuckles white with how he’s fisting the back of Eddie’s button up.

“He’s not okay, baby,” Joe says, low and furtive. Iris nods, still with her eyes glued to them.

“I know, dad,” She says. It’s probably _all_ she _can_ say. “I don’t- I don’t know why, dad, but he’s not, not _right_ ,”

She finally looks at him, and Joe stares at her worried eyes, at the brittle lines of her mouth that means she’s near tears, the way she’s leaning ever so slightly to where Eddie and Barry are.

“Take him home,” Joe says in the end, and Iris squeezes her eyes closed, pushing herself into her dad’s arms and burrowing in for just a moment. “I’ll cover with Singh,”

They take a moment to think that the Captain probably won’t argue. Even David has seen how thin and ill Barry’s been getting. There hasn’t been an officer or detective in the place who hasn’t asked after Barry.

“Thanks,” She whispers.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Joe says as she pulls back, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. From afar, his own eyes aching, Eddie watches them. His fingers fit into the shallow graves of Barry’s ribs.

“Yeah,” Iris says. “Yeah,”

She turns to look at Barry and Eddie. Eddie looks back at her, heart breaking.

\---

**[4]**

They get him home, Barry quiet as they sit in Iris’ car.

Iris watches them, Eddie and Barry, from the rearview mirror intermittently. Barry is just _sitting_ there, not even a crackle of electricity in his dull eyes. Eddie’s moved him so his legs are thrown over Eddie’s thighs, his head tucked under Eddie’s chin.

He’s clutching at Eddie’s button up with a white knuckled hand, _desperate._

He’s murmuring something into Barry’s hair, Eddie. Iris watches them, face bathed in the glow of a red light just a block away from their apartment. Eddie feels her watching, and he’s still talking to Barry, holding his hand, as he looks up.

It’s a punch to the stomach how _hurt_ he looks, how his eyes are worried and _concerned_ as if he’s _scared_ Barry will break into a thousand pieces.

It’s easy enough to get him into the lift, through the front door, sat on the sofa.

Iris makes tea, because that’s what her Aunt Esther taught her to do, and she needs something to _do_ because otherwise she’s going to grab the gun she brought after the situation with Tony Woodward. She wants to find Eobard Thawne and kill him all over again.

Eddie, just as quiet and _hurt_ as her, presses against her back and buries his face into the back of her neck, arms around her waist.

He takes a shuddering breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” He admits, low and _scared_ . “He’s-he’s lost so much weight, Iris, we knew he was losing it, but I don’t understand how-how it’s got _this bad_ ,”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” She says, and if it sounds like she’s not there at all, it’s because she _just doesn’t know_. “I really don’t know,”

“I’m _scared_ ,” Eddie murmurs, low and private and it’s a hurt sound in the back of his throat.

“Me too, babe,” She whispers, and her hand falls to Eddie’s on her belly, wrapped tight around her. All three of them, her and Barry and Eddie trying not to fall into pieces that might not be gathered up again.

She fits two mugs of tea in Eddie’s hands after, and leads the charge into the living room.

They pause.

They can just see Barry, hunched over on the couch, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He looks so _tired_ , hurt and _scared_. They can see the arch of his spine, the knobs of his spine pressing against his clothes, the heave of his ribs - it’s like he has the insurmountable weight upon his shoulder.

He doesn’t move at the sound of the mugs being out on the side, just little tremors running through his body. 

“Barry?” Eddie asks softly. He holds a hand out, wants to touch Barry again, but after seeing him, laid bare in their home, something seems even more fragile than normal. Iris disappears into their bedroom for a moment, returning with their comforter, shoes kicked off and an expression on her face that means she’s trying her hardest not to cry.

Barry doesn’t say anything, shoulders giving another jerk. He gives a sniff, and then raises his head, and his eyes are  _ red _ , wide and hurt and  _ exhausted _ as he curls his fingers around Eddie’s. 

“Can-can we just, cuddle?” Barry says, tremulously. His face is sunken, he looks like he hasn’t ate something substantial. As if something is continuously sapping his strength.

Eddie swallows back whatever he wants to say, and gropes around for the hand Iris has put on his shoulders, squeezing her fingers for a moment.

“Yeah, Bar,” Iris says instead, Eddie still feeling as if he’s got something stuck in his throat. “Of course,”

It’s unanimous that Barry is in the middle, Eddie pressed against the side of the sofa with his belt and shoes discarded, Barry between his legs and resting against his chest. The sofa is large enough that Iris slots herself between Barry and the back of the sofa, legs tangling with her boys.

Barry’s curled himself up, buried his face into Eddie’s chest, hand curled up near his throat and clutching their hands tightly in his. He’s trembling, shuddering out little  _ sobs _ that make Eddie bite his lip and Iris press her trembling mouth to Eddie’s shoulder. 

It’s warm beneath the comforter, with all three of them, but their Barry is trembling to pieces between them, begging for forgiveness, something they’ll never not give to him, no matter what he does.

“I love you,” Eddie says, still in that soft, sweet tone that he uses around them, smoothing Barry’s hair away from his forehead. He rests his cheek against the crown of Barry’s head, catching Iris’s eyes.

She reaches up, kissing him softly. Her lips are wet from where her tears have slipped down her face. 

“I love you,” She replies, and she grips his hand tighter. Barry shudders against Eddie’s chest.

“I love you both,” Barry says quietly, and he peeks up at them both from beneath his lashes, with exhausted and bruised eyes. He gives a tremulous smile, presses his trembling lips against Eddie’s chest, over his heart  _ [over the gunshot] _ , inhales heavily and presses a kiss to Iris’s shoulder.

They still need to talk, Iris knows. But right now, watching Barry who's just so tired and hurting and bruise-eyed-he deserves this little bit of comfort.

\---  



End file.
